


I Didn't Want John Recording This One

by Sammichplease



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Sort of Wistful Tune, JOURNAL ENTRY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammichplease/pseuds/Sammichplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A journal entry so I don't forget</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Didn't Want John Recording This One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SookMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SookMonster/gifts).



I close my eyes. There is always a moment of stillness before my infinite catalogue of kept information slices through my thoughts, ridding all deterioration that is the fallacious conclusions and linking probabilities together like wires on a circuit board, eventually-metaphorically- lighting a small bulb that is the answer.

My ‘Mind Palace’ was merely a manifestation (obviously). I created a place to organize information, and store it away in case of exigencies or when given the opportunity to dwell on a particular case, scrutinize it, run my fingers over the surface to find each crevice and assimilate its history, to repeat the process until I commit the solution to memory. The ‘Mind Palace’ exists simply because I prefer to see and feel, when necessary. In a hasty deduction I tear past experiences from the back of my mind and flip through them like cards in a deck, using only what I need instead of visiting my intimate library.

Although it is true, it could be said that I love to touch, but do not touch what I love. When it comes to human beings, I could provide information on anything needed to know on habits, preferences, past experiences and actions, the chemical formula of what most people consider love, and so on. All one would need is a closer look, usually having to do with touching. I rarely-if at all- ‘touch’ those I love. When one already knows how the working machine of another’s body functions, then the art in the mystery of love has depleted. For example, a common person does not look closely at an illusion, because they know it is simply that. They stand back and admire it for what it is at that moment, and they wonder. Their curiosity is aroused but never nipping. They know not to strip the art of its skin, tear into each muscle fiber and examine the bones to see how they all fit together. I’ve already delved too deeply into the illusion of my loved ones to ever be caught in the usual trance that is ‘love’, but on occasion I will stand back to admire my illusions. Sometimes even I want to forget.

Skirting around the topic of love is something I wish I could do, but as it is the main root of my emotional detachment, the topic is inevitable. Referring to my previous metaphor, a common person stands back from an illusion, as they would stay away from a beloved art piece in fear of smearing or ruining it. One does not dig their fingers into a painting they respect, solely for coming closer and truly ‘experiencing’ the art. For when they stand back they find that they have ruined the perfect imperfection of the piece. They have ultimately ruined their beloved painting, and whenever they focus their attention on it ever again, they will see where their greed took over and they tarnished the art’s beauty with tainted fingers. For once, I am the common person. Standing back to pretend I have the luxury of admiring an illusion I was entranced by, a safe distance from the piece. 

To rid of this extended metaphor that is one of my romantic tendencies, I will confess to having a few ‘pieces of art’ in my life. They are the ones I display my obvious flaws in front of but never delve deeper than the superficial errors in my mechanics. They are also the ones who baffle me with their loyalty. Few traits of humanity have ever caught me off my guard, including their ability to trust, and to tell the truth. Both combined have created the most courageous and pure human beings that I have ever laid my eyes upon. And I will only ever lay my eyes upon them.

I would like to remind you, if any suggestive ideas have crossed your mind, that love comes in many forms. There is the physical and romantic, yes, but people forget that serotonin will flood your system in the presence of friends and family. I will never admit to allowing myself to love another person, not yet at least. Admiration is a more proper word in my case; each time I lay my eyes upon those who trust me it whispers its presence through my ears. It simply never ceases to amaze me how someone so vulnerable could decide to give their life for such a stoic and mysterious creature such as myself. It could bring a normal person to tears and a sociopath, well, to romance. It almost ruins the fun of plotting possible murder techniques.

My weaknesses are these people. The untarnished sculptures, astonishing illusions, my friends. And never will I lay a tainted finger or poisonous thought on any of them. Nor will anyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly you are such a hypocrite in writing. And did you honestly think I wouldn't find this on my laptop?


End file.
